Elladan, Elffriend
by Galadhriel Vornionien
Summary: The story of the human boy, Elladan, stranger to Middle Earth. Lover of a world he could not know existed, Danny is granted his wish to enter into Arda. But at what price?
1. The Leaf

**Elladan** Disclaimer: I own nothing (except my OCs), Tolkien owns all, though I wish I did. I piece of Eriador might be nice :D 

Chapter One: The Leaf

An elf gazed out into the harbor, eyes dazzled by the sun's dances on the surface of Ulmo's and Oss''s home. His ship was nearly ready. Two elves stood behind him, though they were not dressed for travel, as he was. He turned to one of them, a lady clad in black, with black hair pulled back into warrior's braids. The elf held out something to her, a scroll sealed in silver wax.

_"Here it is, as I promised, Galadhriel. Mayhap the Wise will know best how to distribute it, and Eridhras best how to decipher and hone my mad scrawlings._

_She handed it to the elf beside her, a golden-haired Silvan with princely bearing, who unrolled it and scanned a little. He looked up with a pained expression._

_"Cousin, " he said, "it will take me _at least_ a century to fix _that._ And I only read the first sentence._

_The ship-bound elf smiled and shook his head._

_"I cannot help you. I simply compiled what has been sent! Just make sure it is read, Galadhriel Vornionien, Princess of Mirkwood. Just make sure it is read._

Forwith, I, Galadhriel Vornionien, keep my promise. Here is the tale as written by Elladan Arathorn, son of Theadore, calledWeatherstaff, compiled by Rumil of Lothlorien, and honed to the page by Eridhras, younger Prince of Mirkwood. May Eru bless its reading.

"The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began

Danny hummed as he squinted against the wind down at his own road, which ran to his own door just over the next hill. The rain drove past the hood of his long woolen cloak and ran in happy waterfalls off his nose and chin and smiling lips. He stopped for a moment, breathing deeply the scent of wet November moor, letting the cold refresh his weariness. Soon, however, he turned his eyes back to the road and the hill, knowing he would catch it from his mum if he didn't get back too "the door where it began" before supper.

Soon he could see the lights of his home ahead, overwhelming the mist, gently beckoning him to hurry. Before he could turn aside from the main road, however, a figure came hurrying up from the opposite direction and jovially greeted him.

"Fine evenin' to ya, young sir!" bellowed the man, who was wrapped up so completely in a long wool coat that you could only make out his eyes and a bit of his bulbous red nose above it.

"And to you, Mr. Baconslow!" said Danny trying to sound hurried, but to now avail.

"The roads will be a fine disaster on the morrow, don't ya think?

"Er, yes. Indeed. I really

However, Tad Baconslow was known for his particular long-windedness and would not give up the opportunity of conversation so quickly.

"I say," he said, eyeing Danny's medieval mode of dress, "what's a respectable young man like y'self doin' out on such an evening?

He also fancied himself constable by hereditary right; even hundreds of years after things had ceased to work in such a way. As he put it, "The Baconslows have been the law in Telshire since William the Conqueror. Me ancestor was granted the title by the king Ôimself, and no newfangled votin' system Ôill change that!

"I was, er, just walking home from a jaunt in the woods, sir." Said Danny.

Mr. Baconslow nodded, the suspicion in his face not abating as he tipped his hat. "Give me regards to yer mum, little master! See ya at kirk

With that Danny turned toward home, and Mr. Baconslow hurried away, shaking his head and muttering. His friends at the _Red Snake_ got an earful over their ale that night: "Them Weatherstaffs up at the Manor. Strange lot and that's fer sartan. The boy was wearin' a cloak! And carryin' a bloody great sword as well! There's tell of strange doins' in that house there is My Alice tells me that their daughters speak in _tongues_ when the mood catches Ôem, and that father o' theirsÉHmm mm. He'd a been burned for witchcraft if this town was still what it once was. They say Ôe's a scientist, but I don't buy it. Just pokin' Ôis nose where it don't belong Ôe Ôis. His drinking fellows nodded their heads knowingly. The Weatherstaffs were uncommonly strange. Everybody knew that!

The great oak door of Telshire Manor soon shut behind Danny, and he stood in a slowly growing puddle of muddy water in the slate-floored hall.

"Elladan Arathorn Theodore Weatherstaff!" his mother's voice called from the basement stair.

"Young man," she said, walking into the room, "didn't I tell ye to come straight home if the weather turned foul? When she spoke it was not in English, but in a language that rolled softly off the tongue, dropping delicately into the mind of whoever heard it. When Danny answered he spoke in the same way.

"Aye, you did mumÉ" He hung his dripping head and grinned. "But the woods are so, if I may say, Magical, in a storm! The wind and the rain dueling in the treetops, the leaves dancing all around you in the great gusts, and the mists Ôopening reluctantly in front and closing forbiddingly behind you' as Mr. Tolkien would say_. Besides_, I was bein' beset by a family of cave-trolls. They kept Curuglin and me busy for quite some time. He winked and hung up his cloak, revealing the sword that hung at his side.

Mrs. Weatherstaff shook her head.

"You're as daft as your father, Elladan. Daft as your father and twice as disarming. She smiled and kissed him on the forehead.

"Aye, mum. And you're the one who married him.

"Come now, who did you really run into?

"The Honorable Constable Thaddeus Baconslow, if you must know.

"Oh, I see. No arrest attempt this time around?" she said, smiling.

"No. But when he saw the sword, he looked as if he thought I might stab him where he stood. I was just out practicing

"Mr. Baconslow can overreact at times. Don't let it bother you.

_Him and everyone else in Telshire,_" whispered Danny to himself. "Right Mum. It doesn't bother me one whitÉ" But he did not sound convinced at all. 

"You were careful now, weren't you, Elladan? Ever since your grandfather made you that thing I've been having visions of lost fingers and gashed limbs I still can't see how you can manage to fight as well as you do with that sword when all you have to practice on are trees and hedge-heather. It's as if you can really see the inanimate object before ye sprout pointy ears, black armor and fangs!

Danny's eyes looked far away, out the window to the wood from which he had just returned. "I wish I could, mum. I wish I could

"Danny! Oh Danny you're back! _Mae Govannen, mae govannen!_

The sound of laughter and excited feet pounded down the upstairs corridor. Three brazenly red-colored heads peeked over the banister, pigtails sticking from them at weird angles. Danny laughed at their eager, gap-toothed smiles. These were his triplet sisters, Elanor, Idril, and Tinuviel. He gave an exaggerated bow. _Mae gevannen_, my fair maids! I have come from afar and hoped that I might refresh myself at thy table?

The girls came tumbling down the stairs, giggling hysterically, and threw themselves at him, knocking him backwards a few feet.

"Oh Danny!" said Elanor rapturously. "We thought orcs had gotten you, Da said you'd surely fight them off, but we said that he'd have to go and rescue you, but we knew that you and Da could give Ôem a fair whipping'! Her eyes were bright with seven-year-old adoration

"Well, I didn't run into any orcs this time," he hung his sword up at 

its place on the wall, "but I did put a few cave trolls to flight. Curuglin did some mighty deeds today, Elly!" 

They both looked up at the sword on the wall. It was long and strong, its leather scabbard laced with etchings of silver leaves, and the hilt and the pommel were adorned with green stones. When his grandfather, a sword-smith, presented it to him on his 16th birthday, Danny named it Curuglin, Elvish for "skilled and shining eye. For all the months since he'd taken it everywhere, and become quite good in the handling of it. He could even hold his own against his father and uncles, who'd been trained in swords-manship since they were boys.

"Danny," said his mother, "I believe you have an English paper due at the end of holiday. Why don't you work on that while you wait for dinner? The girls will help me in the kitchen.

All shoulders sagged slightly at this dictum, but he headed obediently upstairs as the girls fell in behind their mother. Closing the door to his room behind him, he looked around. Rain beat insistently at the windows that lined one wall. The other three were covered with paintings that his mother had drawn of her one passion: Middle-Earth.

The meeting of Beren and Luthien Tinuviel hung above his fireplace; Aragorn, wielding the sword Anduril, stared stoically down from the wall by his bed. There was a long narrow landscape of the Shire painted around the molding. Even the furniture reflected, much like the rest of the house, a quiet Elven beauty, all hand carved of oak and upholstered with green, leafy patterns.

For as long as Danny was aware, his family had lived as close to J. R. R. Tolkien's literary world as possible. Their home, Telshire Manor, had housed the famous author for a few weeks once, and had been bought by the Weatherstaffs just before Danny's birth. His mother was a philologist, an expert on language, and the whole family spoke Sindarin and Quenya, the tongues of the Elves of Middle-Earth. Danny knew that the known vocabulary of these languages was very limited, so he assumed that his mother had made up quite a bit herself in order to bring about the full language they spoke at home. His father was a quantum physicist, or, as his school-friends referred to him, "some sort o' mad genius." Danny knew him, though, as the man who'd taught him how to use a sword, how to survive in wood or moor, and had painstakingly taught him the finer points of Tolkien expert-dom. 

His parents had fallen in love with John Ronald Reul Tolkien in highschool, and continued their passion into adulthood, eventually even naming their children in Elvish. Most of their neighbors in the village of Telshire thought them strange and uncanny. They always would speak of "those Weatherstaffs" whose son walked around with a sword on his belt, and whose daughters spoke in unintelligible languages. Nevertheless, the family happily ignored them, preferring to let the "hobbits down in Telshire" think what they wanted. Indeed, Danny often felt the part of Strider, one of Tolkien's myriad of characters, watching above the outskirts of the village, unobserved and unwanted.

Danny looked down at the finished paper on his desk. It was entitled "Gen. Montgomery and the British Soldier of 1939-45. His history teacher, Dr. Kirkmountain, was a WWII buff, and had assigned the paper before the winter holidays. Danny knew that the venerable doctor might appreciate some extra effort put into it, so he planned to include pictures and short bios of the British WWII soldiers from his own past. Both of his grandfathers and four great uncles had served in all branches of the "last Good War. The photographs would be in the attic, he knew, buried in the trunks of family artifacts and heirlooms. He'd have to go on an expedition for them in the morning.

Mr. Weatherstaff brought a huge notebook full of mathematical equations to the table that night, and didn't look up from it until dessert was served.

"What is so important, Theo dear, that you would ignore your family at table?" asked Mrs. Weatherstaff.

"Oh, tesseracts and such, Aurelia. Nothing very interesting.

"Have you been reading that L'Engle woman again? You know that she's just a science fiction writer, _not _a scientist, Theodore.

"No, but I've been thinking, thinking right hard, mind you, about such things. I mean, what if L'Engle is right, and there is such a way to find a wrinkle or a rip in time itself? There are countless other dimensions out there, countless possibilitiesÉ" he held up a sheet of paper, covered with the graphs, runes, and theorems of his profession. "What if the reason that Lewis and Tolkien were able to write so brilliantly about other times and places was that they'd actually found a way to _be_ there?

He looked expectantly into the faces around the table, hoping to see signs of enthusiasm. All he caught was an exasperated expression from his wife, and the fact that Danny seemed to be studying his empty plate very hard. Finally Idril spoke.

"Daddy, you really are mad, like they say at school, aren't you?

"Mad m'gel? Is that what they are teaching you in those confounded classrooms?" said Mr. Weatherstaff, looking stern.

"Molly says I haven't got a proper Christian name," pronounced a very somber Tinuviel, "and that I ought to be re-christened.

Danny leaned across the table. "Well you can tell Molly that _her _name once meant 

"Elladan! Please remember to never slander a woman, even if she has been rude!" reprimanded his mother.

"Tinuviel," she continued, "you have a perfectly proper Sindarin name, one that any lady should be proud to wear. Don't let your school friends boss you into believing that the title ÔNightingale' is strange or unbecoming.

"Yes, mum. I did tell them that they were silly to care

"They were, Tilly." said Mr. Weatherstaff. "School children are certainly crueler than they used to be, eh, m'dear?

"I'm afraid so darling.

Suddenly, Danny looked up from his contemplation of crumbs and said, "I wish Father were right.

"What's that, Elladan?

"I said I wish Father were right. What if we _could_ somehow escape into a place like Middle Earth? Our world does get frightfully boring and cruel at times. Tilly shouldn't _have_ to worry about her name; I shouldn't _have _to feel invisible whenever I walk down to Telshire. SometimesÉ" he sighed, "sometimes I wish I could just leave for a little while.

"Oh, Danny." said his mother softly. "Even Middle-earth was boring and unbearably cruel. Think of the expanse of the Dead Marshes, stretching featureless and dull from the Mountains of Ash to the Emyn Muil, steeped in the memory of lives lost. Or consider the slaying of Beleg Strongbow by Turin his best friend! In many ways Middle-earth was probably worse than this world in which we have been placed.

"Yes, but, I don't know. Somehow it's different in the stories. I feel as if I don't belong here. At times, like when Quentin Maccardy caught me reciting _The Song of Beren and Tinuviel_ and wouldn't let me forget it for a week, I feel as if I was made for that place that unfolds every time I open one of Tolkien's books. You know how I feel, don't you, mum?

"Elladan, I 

"Oh come Aurelia." Interrupted Mr. Weatherstaff. "Let the boy dream. We did the same thing at his age, often enough.

"Yes, I know. But how much Time did we spend doing so, Theodore? I just don't want my son to spend his God-given hours and minutes pining over something that cannot be, then wake up suddenly wondering why his head's gone gray! Our time here on earth is too short for that.

She pierced into Danny with her beryl-green eyes, and he looked down, properly chastened; though you could not say that his spirit was ever properly subdued. He fell asleep that night to the sound of Elvish voices lifted up in their houses' battle-cries, of Orcs screeching out their defiances, of the singing of many blades as they were pulled from their sheaths, and Curuglin shouted with sunlight as battle was joined before Danny's dream-filled eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Far away in time and space, long ago and now, an Elf stood on the banks of a stream, as it danced jigs up and over its stony beds. A warm and pleasant breeze from the south played with the green birch-leaves above him. Summer was come to the Nimrodel, and the woods of Lothlorien would be gilded with the light of sun on mallorn leaves; but Galadhlas of Mirkwood was not thinking of his surroundings or the approaching promise of long, warm days. His dark, intense gaze was focused on the other bank as he waded across. He didn't seem to notice the soothing coolness of the water ease the weariness of many miles walked from his feet. His eyes did not leave the path ahead as a massive mallorn tree, silver-boughed and golden-leafed, loomed ahead. His pale face was hard and stern as he stopped just beneath it and looked up. 

"Come, cousin!" he said to the tree-branches. "I know you've been watching me for a while now. Show yourself!" 

Nothing but the tittering of birds met his expectancy. 

_Tulo dad!_ We have no time for this! We wanted to be well north of Caras Galadhon before evening, and its near noon now, so stop your impudent staring and come along!

He shook his head and looked despairingly upwards once more. He was not surprised when soon afterwards a gray-cloaked figure flipped from a branch above and landed behind him, laughing merrily.

"Still like talking to trees, eh, Galadhlas?" said the young elf, leaning against the mallorn trunk.

"RumilÉ" said Galadhlas, not hiding his impatience, "Where is your brother and when will you Galadhrim learn the importance of punctuality?

Rumil shrugged. 

"When time stops. My brother, oh attentive cousin, is right above you.

Galadhlas looked up at the lowest branch of the tree to see Haldir, the child of his mother's brother, perched easily upon it. A small smile of recognition flashed across his face.

"Blessed be the Elves of Lorien, Haldir son of Rilorn," he said, "who could sneak up on the all-seeing Manwe if they had the patience to try.

"And blessed be the Elves of the Greenwood, kinsman, may their timeliness never falter!

Haldir leaped lightly down and the two embraced.

"What hindered you, son of Vornion?" he asked. "We expected you days ago.

"Orcs lurked in the Emyn Muil and the lands north of there. I was forced off my path several times, and finally had to go miles out of my way and change our meeting place, so thickly did their parties bar my way.

"I trust there was not any _fighting_ involved," said Rumil, looking him over, "seeing as _you _have managed to come back in one piece.

Galadhlas turned to him and glared. "Ten orcs will not be returning to their dens this winter.

"Ooh!" answered Rumil, grinning mischievously. "I acknowledge my mistake, oh mighty warrior. Then, with a more serious face, he asked, "Have you, er, happened to catch that one with no ears yet?

Galadhlas suddenly seemed to gaze at something far away, and shades of bitter memory floated beneath his eyes.

"No. Ashkaluk the orc-captain still walks free.

Rumil was silent, now sorry he had brought it up.

"Come," said Haldir after a moment, "we will meet with Orophin at the Silverlode. We have a long road before us yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny stood at the top of the attic stair and surveyed the ocean of trunks, boxes and old furniture that swelled up nearly to the ceiling. The trunk he sought was somewhere in that wreck of cardboard and oak, and he had meant to find it before lunchtime. He was not so sure of himself now. His grandfather would be over for a sword lesson soon enough, and Danny already had Curuglin hung at his side. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his day digging through piles of heirlooms covered in allergens. Oh, well. Maybe he would find the box quickly and without hassle. 

He tried to get his bearings in the dimness. Sunlight shone through the eastern window, but it was pale and tired from fighting its way through the still dusty air. Everything blended together in the close twilight, and he could barely see. Danny took one step, only to trip and fall to the floorboards, upsetting a precarious pile of boxes on the way. Sharp edges rained upon him, and a small box hit him right on the head, landing in front of his nose. There was nothing particular about the palm-sized box, but the glint of silver upon it caught his eye. He picked it up and saw that it was made of a smooth gray wood, plain, practical, and was stamped in silver on the lid with the Elven rune for G. Danny noticed that it was heavy and burdensome in his hand, despite its size.

The box was not a strange thing to have around the house, since his mother kept replicas of almost anything Elvish that was make-able. But he was curious why it was stuffed away in the attic when it could easily have been adorning a table in the parlor. Danny lifted the lid, and a brittle scrap of paper floated to the floor. There was Elvish script written on it, but, strangely enough, it was translated to English words. He read aloud,

_Touch that which in both worlds dwells,_

_Both in forest and secrets so gray,_

_Leave the safety of home, hearth and hill,_

_To one year and a different day,_

_Take reflection of the dark beings,_

_Fear will walk Ôneath the golden-boughed tree,_

_Journey with those who trust nothing,_

_When red covers black you'll be free._

What the bit of verse could mean he could not devise, but his eye was quickly caught by something much more interesting. In the bottom of the box lay a leaf. Not an ordinary leaf like oak or birch, faded and brittle with time; but a leaf the color of refined gold, delicately shaped, fresh and young. It shone brilliantly in the close air of the attic, its only blemish being four spots of crimson-deep black that marred its complete beauty.

To Danny it seemed to never come completely into focus, as if he were viewing it through a very deep pool. And whether because of its own loveliness, or because of some woven magic of the place from which it came, he could not take his eyes from it. Slowly, and a bit unsteadily, his hand reached out to touch it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"How much farther until food and sleep, Haldir?" asked Rumil, yawning. 

"With Galadhlas leading, brother, who knows?

The sunset had long since faded from the tops of the _mellyrn_, but the troop still marched on. They had been joined by Haldir and Rumil's brother, Orophin, at the river Celebrant, and now the foursome made their way steadily northwards. One more day of traveling would bring them to the border of The Fair Wood and the wild, uncouth Wilderland, and Galadhlas was intent on reaching it before then.

Rumil hurried from his place in the rear and fell in next to his cousin, matching his long strides perfectly.

"Galadhlas, why do we hurry? If we are to travel all the way to Mirkwood with you, and traverse the dangers of Wilderland there and back, can we not linger under the leaves of our homeland until we reach the border? We have no real need for haste.

Galadhlas stopped and looked up at the stars that slid their tendrils of light through the golden canopy above. "Yes, I suppose that my homeland can wait for me one more night. We'll camp on that hill ahead. I often forget how beautiful is the land of my mother's birth.

When they had camped and built a fire, Rumil spoke up again.

"So, why the sudden journey home, cousin? I thought you relished hunting in the Wild.

"I do. I go now to visit my sister, Galadhriel. Until last month she hunted with me and my brothers; but she was wounded badly in a skirmish with some orcs. Landroval the Eagle, a friend of our house, carried her home. I go now to Kemenril to see her, and bring news of the hunt to our father. I asked for your companionship because you are my kinsmen and my father has sent word that he has business to discuss with Haldir.

"We go gladly." said Orophin. "It has been too long since the Elves of Lorien walked in Greenwood the Great.

"And it will be good to see Squirrel again," said Rumil.

"I do not have to remind you that she despises that name, cousin?" said Galadhlas.

"Ah, but if I remember rightly, it was your idea to call her that!

The travelers slept peacefully that night, knowing that within that land no watch was needed. They were unaware that not so far away from the embers of their fire, a shadowy figure had appeared.


	2. Orc Friend

Elladan

Chapter Two: Mellon

In the silent moments after his finger touched the leaf, Elladan could not see or hear, but felt as if he were being tossed about by a thousand winds. Through the many-folded fabrics of Time and space he fell, until the wind stopped, and he felt something sturdy at his back and earth beneath his hands again.

He was trembling all over when he finally opened his eyes and saw that he was no longer in his overcrowded attic, but in a strange and foreign wood. Trees rose high above him, their tops hidden in the night. All around him was the deepest black, except for far away beyond the trees, where tiny pricks of light littered what he guessed was sky. A wind shook the stillness of the solitary spot and brought with it the sound of laughter. Where was he?

His mind palpitated with the realization that he couldn't be where he had beenÉHis father had been right. He had somehow gotten himself carried from one place to another completely different. But was it still on the earth? Was it still his own time? Could his dream of escaping completely from the life he knew finally have been achieved? He tried to hold back a giddy laugh as his hands groped in the darkness, searching for something that might tell him where he was. The fingers soon grasped a small plant and he held it close to his face. Right then the moon broke from the confines of a cloud, rising high above him through the treetops and shone its full light on everything. The trees stood like marble pillars, their silvery sides stark with the shadows, golden leaves lay about like piles of coins. The flower in his hand was small, with white petals delicately wrought as if by a master-jeweler.

Middle Earth. The truth was revealed in the moonlight's majesty. Danny was standing in _Lothlorien_, the Dreamflower, _Laurelindorenan, _the Land of the Valley of Singing Gold, the fairest of all places inhabited by Elves in the latter days. The trees above were_ mallyrn_ and the tiny flower was _niphredil_. Danny leaped to his feet and spun around, trying to take it all in. It was _real_. It wasn't just a book_._ Tolkien had _known_ about it the whole time. And now he was there, in the story, in the lands he'd loved since he was five.   
"But what part of the story, I wonderÉ" he whispered, standing up and looking around. "What if I've landed during a war or something? I do wish adventures came with maps!

He began to walk, in no particular direction, hoping that he was close to dwellings of some kind. Soon enough he came upon a stream, glittering in Turil's light, and bent down to take a drink. But the light also revealed a disturbing truth. Danny jumped back and screamed with horror when he didn't see his face in the reflection. Instead a horrifying mask with bulbous cat-eyes, fangs, and greenish-gray wrinkles stared back at him. He lifted his hand before him, and instead beheld a claw black and hairy, with grasping fingers and rending nails, moving in the same way he willed his own hand to move. Terror shuddered through him as he sprang up and looked down at what he had become. Danny's body was gone, and in its place was left a monster. His legs were bowed, his back hunched, his skin leathery and black. Elladan Weatherstaff had been transported to Middle Earth, to Lorien, in the form of an orc, the most dangerous and despised, perhaps, or all created beings. Fear clutched at his heart as he thought of what this meant. Lothlorien was a peaceful place; but its peace stemmed directly from the fact that its people were warriors. The Galadhrim were stealthy fighters, deadly shots with the bow, guarding the outposts of their land with a vigilance that even an insect could not escape.

"I'll be dead before I even see themÉ" he whispered to himself. "The Elves have no reason to believe I'm anything but what I appear to be.

The white beauty of the woods took on a sinister pallor, the excitement he felt melted into a pool of dread, as he scanned the surrounding trees, wondering if he was being watched at that very moment by unfriendly eyes. What, for just seconds, he thought would be a grand exploration of Lothlorien turned into a quest to find anyplace where he might hide. He crept slowly into the shadows, not knowing whether the next moment would bring a silent, lonely death, or simply more uncertainty. He followed the stream, until its banks grew steeper and brush began to grow up besides it. Danny slid wearily to the damp ground between the brush and bank, shutting his eyes to the endless, menacing forest. But he could not shut out the mist of fear that grew and grew upon him.

It was late morning before Danny awoke from troubled dreams. He ached from the night spent on the ground. The sun slithered lazily down to cast mottled shadows on the forest floor, the brook trickled contentedly beside him, and with the sun the full glory of Lothlorien was revealed. Yet Danny, for all the times he had dreamed of being there, could find no pleasure in its beauty. The flowers mocked him, the sun gave only light for his antagonists to see by, the trees and leaves hid only murderous eyes. He recalled the chapter in The Fellowship of the Ring when the Fellowship enters Lorien and is quickly headed off by the three Galadhrim brothers, Haldir, Orophin, and RumilÉStrider had been forced to convince them not to shoot Gimli the dwarf before the company was let in.

"That's all I need, a forest full of trigger-happy elves," he muttered. He smiled a little to himself. Of all the adjectives he'd ever heard describing elves, "trigger-happy" wasn't one of them, and yet it was almost ironically hilarious that it was the only one that now mattered. But the smile quickly settled back into a morbid frown. Despair was all he felt now. No one in Middle-Earth, except for the terrifying, real orcs, would even get close enough for him to explain things. He was marked for death. Men, elves, dwarves, even hobbits, would hate him before he said a word. 

"Maybe I'll get a glimpse of the elves before they kill me. I've always wanted to know what they looked like And as babyish as he knew it made him look, he stuck his head in his hands and cried.

Out of the trees a voice called. It was a song, sung well and heartily. Danny listened, glad that the language was familiar to him. It told of the wooing of Aredhel by Eol the Dark Elf, a tragic event that led to the fall of the great Elven city, Gondolin. But the singer seemed to take it rather comically, singing a merry chorus of "bent old Eol and Aredhel, the wench that couldn't duck a spell Soon another voice cried out over the song. 

"Enough! Enough, my kinsman! Where did you learn that sacrilegious song, Rumil?

The talking, more like shouting, continued as the group came into sight through the trees. Danny ducked down closer to the ground, trying to find the maximum amount of hiding space with the best amount of view, trembling as what he longed for and what he dreaded grew nearer.

There were four of them, all elves, arguing rapidly in Sindarin. Danny studied them intently, noting the difference between their faces and those of men. They were built like their younger brethren, and yet they weren't. They were taller than any man he'd ever seen, and yet they did not seem unusually so. Their features held a delicacy that was almost feminine, only it was wrought together with a strength exceeding the most powerful man's. Their eyes were not unnatural colors, but were shades of natural colors not humanly possible.

The first was very tall, taller than most of his race, it was clear. He had long black hair that hung shaggily to his shoulders, keen black eyes, and though his face was fair, it seemed also grim, ridden with many cares and much grief. His trappings were plain and sensible; no ornaments could be seen, not even a silver buckle. All was gray or green or brown to blend with plain and forest.

The other three were garbed essentially the same, all in Lorien gray with silver ornaments sparkling on belt, wrist, and boot. All wore the gray cloaks particular to their homeland, all were golden haired and merry. In fact the only ways to tell them apart were build and eye-color; the first had the largest build next to the dark one, with silver eyes; the second was very spare and bony, with forest green eyes; and the last seemed almost too small to be an elf, not much bigger than Danny, with eyes a violent shade of blue. This last one seemed youngest and merriest of all, he practically skipped with happiness..

Danny nervously watched them grow nearer. His limbs stiffened as they stopped right at the stream bed. The young, merry one seemed to be agitating for a rest.

"No, not here!" Danny moaned inwardly.

They all sat down on the bank, utterly unaware of Danny and his telepathic protests. All he could do was squash himself down as far as his bent body would allow. For a while he just closed his eyes and prayed for them to leave him in peace. He could not help himself, however, and soon he was examining from afar the richly decorated, and obviously deadly, bows and daggers of the elves. 

"Let's just hope they don't intend to use them on me," he thought. "How I wish I had an Aragorn to vouch for my character.

Soon the youngest walked down to the stream and leaned over to drink only a few feet from Danny hid. Danny tried to freeze, tried to hold his breath; but the minute the elf's hand touched the water he too froze. Slowly he scanned around him with his eyes, like he could sense that something was amiss. The other elves seem to catch on to his mood, their talk fading, replaced by tense silence. The dark one drew his bow off his shoulder. Danny couldn't tell his own breathing was audible or not, but it sounded like thunder to him. The young elf heard something though, and looked up. Their eyes met.

_Orch!_" cried the elf urgently, fitting an arrow to his bow with a movement that Danny could scarcely see. Things began to happen very fast. Danny launched himself from behind the bushes just as the arrow let fly. He felt it sting past his arm as he turned to run. He didn't get very far before he felt a foot on his neck and a dagger at his back.

Danny bit his lip and braced himself, his whole insides twisted at the thought of death, but a killing thrust never fell. His captor seemed more interested in questioning him.

"You, orc," a voice said very loudly and slowly, "Do - you - speak - the - common - tongue?

This annoyed Danny somewhat.

"No need to shout at me, sir! I speak Sindarin well enough." The Elvish fell out of his mouth as naturally as English. There was a surprised silence, the pressure was taken off his neck, and he was yanked upright. He looked into the harsh face of the tall, grim elf. The other three stood behind him, bows ready, looking thoroughly alarmed.

"Where did you learn the Fair-Speech, orc? Tortured some prisoners into teaching you, know doubt! He shook him, his grip tighter than before.

"Not at all! My parent's taught me. And I'm not an orc!

The Elves looked at him as if he'd just claimed he was Lady Galadriel.

"Well, I know I may _look_ like an orc, but I'm a man! Well, a boy, really. I don't know how or why I got like this. But I'm not evil! Please don't kill me - I just look like one - You have to believe me - you have toÉ.. His rambling drifted into silence, for his interrogator's expression had not changed. The dark elf just put his dagger to Danny's throat and said, "Give me one good reason why I should.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rumil stared down at the orc as Galadhlas questioned him. He'd never seen an orc before, they'd only been disturbing bogeys that his mother had called down on his head whenever he got into trouble. He never dreamed he would meet one within his home's own borders. He feared what this strange intruder could mean for those he loved, and yet he couldn't help feeling curious about it. This orc was smaller than he'd imagined. And more pitiful too. Rumil knew that he should be angrier or more suspicious than he was; but seeing it now, pleading for its life, he was glad that his arrow had only cut the orc's arm. The thing just didn't fit into his idea, at least, of how an orc should act. Why had it come alone into Lothlorien? Why had it given up so quickly? There was a fine sword hung at its waist, why hadn't it tried to use it? His cousin looked fully intent on killing the thing.

"Galadhlas," he said, "Why be so quick to judge this being's purpose?

"Rumil, it's an orc, whether it professes to be or not. They do not often hunt alone, and never without a purpose. I know orcs, cousin, in a way that I pray you will never have to. How do you know he is not part of an attack from the mountains, or Mirkwood? Do you _wish_ to see your land in flames?

"But Ð it - it doesn't seem right. He doesn't _feel_ like an orc.

"Oh, so I suppose you'll be replacing the Lady of the Wood soon, all-knowing one?

"I -

"Kinsman," said Haldir, "if it proves that this orc wishes us harm I would be the first to condone sending his body down the Celebrant to Anduin. By all means he looks like an orc, runs like and orc, Manwe knows he _smells_ like an orc, it remains to be seen whether he fights like one; but he does not _speak_ like one, and I think it is in this that Rumil finds his hesitation.

"It is not as if I have ever heard one," said Rumil, "but do they not tell that orcs are harsh of speech, and would corrupt even the purest of Quenya to refuse on their tongues? Yet this thing speaks as fair and even as a man, and in as goodly an accent as any of our kindred.

"If my opinion matters at all," said Haldir as he relieved the orc of his sword, "I don't think we can rightly kill it.

"You are march warden of Lorien, cousin! By the law of your land trespassers' lives are forfeit if you so choose!

"I don't so choose.

"I, at least," said Orophin, "do not wish to be party to the spilling of innocent blood.

Galadhlas laughed scornfully. "You fools! Can't you see that this is someÉsome plan of the Shadow to put us off our guard? Do you desire, Rumil, to wake and have the last thing you see be your brothers dead before you?!

"Not at all, Galadhlas. If it is, indeed, evil, would we not feel it without a doubt? I sense no malice from yonder shivering wreck, whom you seem intent on killing eventually.

"You Galadhrim view mercy too highly. Galadhlas' face was cold and sneering, his dagger still laid tight against the orc's neck.

"But what if he is telling the truth, cousin? I have heard of stranger enchantments than the turning of one being into another.

"Then what do you prescribe we do?! Just leave him to perhaps wreak havoc? Wait months until the Lord and Lady return from Rivendell?

"We shall take him with us then! The Istar, Radagast the Brown, lives in Mirkwood. Would he not know what is to be done with an orc that calls itself a man? We could take him that far, and then continue on our way.

"Yes! Th-that's b-brilliant!" rasped the orc suddenly, struggling to get as much breath past the knife blade as possible. "Radagast knows much of animals and beings of all kinds. He'll know how to help me, I'm sure of it!

_"Dino, orch!_" said Galadhlas. "We did not ask your council nor wish for it,

The orc ignored him and turned to the three elves who had, so far, been favorable towards him.

"Please, take me with you. My father taught me how to live in the wild, and I can defend myself if need be. I would not hinder you.

"Well, the thing is certainly brave," said Haldir. "Even King Thranduil would take pause before crossing Galadhlas son of Vornion!

Rumil grinned. "I'm glad someone has finally gotten around to it." He looked back at his cousin, whose mood seemed blacker than ever. "What could he do? There are four times as many of us as there are of him. If he has a desire to escape and does, then he just goes back to his fellows and does us no harm. If he desires to murder us all, we are as amply able to silence him forever.

Galadhlas looked from the faces of his three friends to the disgusting, groveling creature they'd had the mischance to find. Travel with thatÉthat _thing_ for weeks? He recoiled at the thought. This would be the first time since _that_ day that he would meet an orc and not attempt to kill it. But he could not endure the enmity of his cousins if he did that now. He had no choice. He took his knife from the thing's neck and pushed it towards his youngest cousin.

"Very well. Rumil, you started this, so I give the orc into your care. You will walk behind it and keep watch over it. If it moves even a finger in a hostile manner, I expect you to be the one to kill it or be killed by it. Food, water, shelter, all will be your responsibility. Will you abide by this? Rumil shrugged. 

"Of course. As if I had any choice in the matter.

"And you, orc," Galadhlas continued, gravely, "will you swear by every speck of honor in you, if you have any, to obey my command at all times, to betray us not, and if we are attacked to fight for those who are about to so foolishly take you in? Remember, betrayal will bring only swift death.

The orc drew himself up as well as he could and stared boldly at the elf.

"I swear, in the name of Iluvatar who holds all men to their oaths, to give you my loyalty and my life. If I go back on this promise may it be to me as you have said.

The Mirkwood elf took the orc's sword from his cousin. "I will keep this until you prove the truth of your words. Come, we have lost much time.

He turned and sprang away into the trees, leading them at a brisk pace northwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny followed close on the heels of the second Lorien elf, wondering with whom he'd fallen in. He dark one, Galadhlas, had called the youngest elf Rumil. Could it be that he'd run into the three Galadhrim brothers from the book? He was relieved that they'd decided not to tie him at all, though he wasn't sure it was a good sign that they were treating him as if he wasn't there at all. Danny soon found that his orcish body enabled him to run faster than he usually was able, without tiring. He kept up well with the three in front of him, and was sometimes obliged to slow down so Rumil could catch up; though the young elf seemed incredibly embarrassed and sullen whenever this happened.

Soon the wood-pillared forest grew thinner, and gave way to shrubby hills and dells of mossy stone. As the sun set they left the last tree behind them, and by the last vestige of red-gold light Danny saw the gray Wilderland stretched before him, between the marble-blue edifices of the Misty Mountains and the molten-silver waters of Anduin. Beyond that lay an endless sea of black trees: Mirkwood. 

The attitude of his traveling companions didn't change as the days passed. While Galadhlas was the only one to show outright hostility, drawing a dagger whenever Danny was within ten feet of him, the others simply treated him like he was a man with an unpleasant and unsightly disease. They rarely spoke to him except to utter instructions, and they never looked him in the eye. Danny could tell that Rumil was at least curious about "the orc," but a fear greater than his curiosity forced him to keep his distance. 

Danny was nearly delirious with the silence, one evening as he munched on _lembas_, the elvish waybread, trying to ignore the sting of the arrow-scratch on his arm. It had gone unattended since his first day, and he didn't know how to care for it himself. 

"Orc?

Danny looked up. Rumil had left the others, and stood a few feet away, concern on his face but reluctance in his eyes.

"Is your arm alright? I know I cut it that first dayÉbut is it still bothering you?

"A little. It only smarts a bit.

"May I, er, look at it? Galadhlas is the more skilled healer here, but I am not sure he would be willing.

"At least _you_ are.

Rumil examined the gash for a few minutes, then sat back on his heels and frowned.

"It healed over without being cleaned. I'll have to open the wound again to drain it, so the infection won't become serious.

Danny winced, then nodded firmly.

"Very well. I thank you for your concern. Er, will it hurt _very_ much?

"I know not - I have never been wounded before. But you have reason to trust the skill of my hand, for my teacher was my own father, Rilorn, healer to the Lord and Lady.

He took the knife from his belt and without even a warning, grabbed Danny's arm in a firm grasp and sliced into the old wound. Danny cried out at the sudden fiery pain, an orcish howl his throat could not help. The sound caused the elves around the fire to start in consternation.

"Shhhhh!" hissed Rumil, as he cleaned the cut and wrapped a linen-strip around it. "Galadhlas wants us to be as silent as possible as we travel. We are now between the fastness of the Shadow in Southern Mirkwood and the dens of the Orcs in the Mountains. Our danger will be greatest from here until we reach RhosgobelÉNo wonder Galadhlas is all gray and sour.

He pulled a face so akin to the stern Elf's that Danny had to smile, though it turned to more of a grimace when Rumil poked his arm again. Rumil chuckled merrily.

"I like you, I think, orc. I don't trust you, yet, but I like you.

"Good," said Danny, "I do not ask you to trust me.


End file.
